"Don't be a fool! You read that book! You know what relation you are to me! I'd always hoped it was Cecilia, but now I know it's you. I should have known it on that night twenty years ago when you complained of a headache and nightmares.... Quickly, my head rocks with pain. Tie me!"
Speechless, his own pain piercing him with agony, Arthur fell to that grisly task. Both hands he tied—and both feet ... tied them so firmly to the iron posts that his father could not lift himself an inch off the bed.
Then he blew out the lamps, and without a further glance at that Prometheus, he reascended the stairs to his room, and slammed and locked his door behind him.
He looked once at the breech of his gun, and set it against a chair by his bed. He flung off his robe and slippers, and within five minutes he was senseless in slumber.
4
He slept late, and when he awakened his muscles were as stiff as boards, and the lingering visions of a nightmare clung before his eyes. He pushed his way out of bed, stood dazedly on the floor.
A dull, numbing cruciation circulated through his head. He felt bloated ... coarse and running with internal mucus. His mouth was dry, his gums sore and stinging.
He tightened his hands as he lunged for the door. "Dad," he cried, and he heard his voice breaking in his throat.
Sunlight filtered through the window at the top of the stairs. The air was hot and dry, and carried in it a mild odor of decay.